1. It was in the middle of summer, August, on one of the hottest days of the year, and in the middle of the day. Many people were inside their homes, with their doors propped open, sitting in front of a fan, drinking either coffee or rum. I too, was warn out by the heat, the humidity, and the sun. As I was looking for a place to sit for a while, I decided to walk down Galiano Street, once known as Avenida de Italia, and in the distance I saw a new set of buildings that recently collapsed. Amidst the rubble, were three boys playing, which is unusual, as children are often told by their parents not to play in these areas due to more of the walls collapsing. I spent the rest of the afternoon photographing them. And like a choreographed musical, as the sun started set, more and more people stepped outside to enjoy the cool caribbean breeze and their walks along the Malecon. 

    Happy New Year!

  2. While walking through the streets of Havana, the precinct, Police Chief stopped me and asked what it is that I am photographing and why?

    I replied with another exasperated look, as I am use to the blank stares by those in power and undaunting expressions by those with authority, I patiently explained to him that I am in search of people to photograph, an interesting moment, or perhaps a landscape or cityscape. He then asked me if I wanted to see one of the best views of Havana?

    My exasperation turned to one of relief and enthusiasm, as I am always a sucker for an incredible view. We walked to one of the tallest, pre-revolutionary buildings in Havana, originally built by Americans, and just like any post-Cuban American anything, the doors are tight and narrow and the hallways are ominous labyrinths of darkness with flickering lights. The Police Chief led me to an elevator that we had to crawl into due elevator floor not lining up with the lobby floor, or any other floor thereafter. He stated the elevator was okay because the Americans built it, as he pointed to the bronze emblem, “Otis,” he pressed 20, the penthouse suite.

     I was holding my breath in fear the elevator was going to slip and come to a halting crash; surprisingly, we made it to the top floor where we crawled out once more and where I breathed another sigh of relief. The commandant rang the doorbell, his wife answers, and the situation became quite tense. The true commander of the house, speaking loudly in Spanish, was complaining of how tired she was of all the tourists the Chief brings home to show their view of Havana. Meanwhile, I pretend I do not understand a word of what she is saying. The view, however, was unbelievable - a 360 degree view of the entire city. I asked the chief if I could take his picture, he said yes, but the commander said no. As I snapped a few photos, I was offered a cigar, a mojito, and rocking chair to enjoy the sun setting over the sea, as a conciliation of a lost photo; it could not have turned out any better. 


  3. Stay Tuned …

    I have been working quite a bit in the darkroom, printing my 8x10 black and white musings, so I hope to start posting soon. 

    In addition to the black and white work that I have been printing, I finally sent out and received back about 30 rolls of color film. 

    So, please stay tuned …  I deplore you to do so, begging you until I can get my lazy ass out of bed, make my espresso, turn on the damn scanner, sit their for hours on end, in this ridiculous heat, scanning image, after image, after image, after image, just to post them on tumblr … .

  4. Anaides is part my ongoing documentation of her and her beautiful family since 2008 (Summer 2012). 

    Mantilla, Havana, Cuba

  5. Two young men wake up early to harvest plantains on their farm in the small town of Boca de Miel to the local markets of Baracoa. The walk from their home to the small town can take as long as 2 hours up and down the winding roads (Summer 2012).

    Baracoa, Cuba

  6. A fisherman is walking home to his fishing village of Boca de Miel after selling his early morning daily catch to a local restaurant in Baracoa. On good day with lots of fish it can take him as long as 2 hours to walk from his fishing village to the small town (Summer 2012).

    Baracoa, Cuba

  7. A young man, who is mentally challenged works as a guard for a state-run facility in the village of Baracoa. He was walking home early in the morning to his small fishing village of Boca de Miel as he works the night-shift. It takes him about 2 hours each way to walk back and forth to work and home (Summer 2012).

    Baracoa, Cuba

  8. Three men walking from their homes from the small fishing village of Boca de Miel to Baracoa. The beginning of the path from the fishing village to beginning of the town of Baracoa is 1 KM. Depending where you live in the fishing village, it can easily take an hour or two walk to your final destination as their are know busses or any other form of public transportation (Summer 2012).

    Baracoa, Cuba

  9. Deborah, my love, posing along the 1 km path that connects the fishing village of Boca de Miel to the small town of Baracoa (Summer 2012).

    Baracoa, Cuba

  10. A boy carrying his makeshift raft from the Honey River back to his fishing village of Boca de Miel (Summer 2012)

    Baracoa, Cuba